Mist covers the pond

like a giant’s breath

on a cool August morning,

a morning that is a gift

after hot humid days.

And then it effortlessly lifts 

to allow the sun its show.

On a hot humid morning,

dragon flies dart around 

plants by the lake,

blue wings flashing, and

tree frogs chatter away while

water nibbles at pond’s edge.

New sweet gum leaves 

poke up from the roots of an

old tree and bees hum in 

a hollow trunk; pine needles 

are strewn across the path,

washed in piles by the recent rain.

White button weed hides in the 

grass and I almost miss it.

I try to be present, but it’s a challenge.